


En Route

by aIIegro



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Rivalry, no spoilers bro, tags added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aIIegro/pseuds/aIIegro
Summary: After a bit of pleading from Montagne, both Doc and Lion agree to try to get along. Rebuilding bridges is harder than expected, and the pair can only hope that they can hold onto whatever is left before life goes awry.
Relationships: Olivier "Lion" Flament/Gustave "Doc" Kateb
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

Things between Gustave and Olivier had always been tense since Operation Chimera, to say the least. It infuriated Gustave to no end every time he thought about the other haughty, arrogant French operator. Sure, they got their work done once both could temporarily get over their unrepressed hostility towards each other (albeit grudgingly), but even the moments of mutual teamwork didn’t suture the festering sore spot between the medic and Lion. Even the most antisocial operators in Rainbow knew the aspects that the two hated about each other. In some ways, it was rather shocking. Olivier was already known to be stubborn and had a knack for annoying everyone in a room, but his ability to dig a strong, seemingly out of place reaction from Gustave was extraordinary. Doc, a man who basically had “putting up with others’ problems” in his job description, was thought to be universally calm and collected, but Lion’s presence was clearly an exception to that notion. 

Twitch found herself almost caught in the crosshairs when she brought Olivier to the infirmary after a recruit training session got out of control and left him with a bloodied calf. The trek down the hall was gruelling. Helping support the larger man, Emmanuelle sighed a little as she fumbled with the door handle, trying to push it with her foot.

“If you couldn’t get the door, knocking is an option,” Gustave called, helping Twitch inside, blatantly ignoring Olivier’s groans of protest. 

“My bad, Gus,” she quipped, dragging the bristling Lion towards a cot and haphazardly dumping him there. “Next time, I’ll get a nitro.”

“Very funny. Not a claymore?”

Twitch shook off her vest, tucked it into the crook of her arm, and gave the Frenchman a pointed glare, stuck out her tongue, and motioned to Lion. Suddenly stone cold, Gustave asked what had happened.

“Well you see, recruits got a hold of Shuhrat’s cluster charges and didn’t fully understand what they did. Need I say more, mon ami?”

“I suppose not, but what exactly happened to _him_?” Doc’s voice soured at the mention of Olivier, whose glare was shooting daggers in return. A moment of tense eye contact passed before Emmanuelle responded.

“No one else got hurt. Some property damage of course, but Olivier is the only one who got hit by anything. I think it’s just, er, stuff that flew into his leg? I am not sure.”

Silence.

“Thank you, Emmanuelle, you may go.”

“Wow, I’m Emmanuelle now, huh?” She playfully retorted before getting up to leave, shifting her vest in her arms. “What did I ever do to you?”

“Em…” Gustave warned as she left with her hands raised in surrender. Once again, there was a tense silence, the only noise coming from various machines scattered throughout the room.

“Are you going to help me or not, dipshit?” Lion snarled before twisting around to inspect his bloodied calf. Nursing his tender leg, blood dripping down his boots, Olivier sat in the most defensive way he could. 

“Va te faire foutre,” Gustave spat, reaching for tools to remove the shrapnel in the other Frenchman’s leg and kept an iron grip on the tense limb. Wrenching it free from Olivier’s preening, the medic began to inspect it. 

“Oh? Va mourir, Kateb,” was the response as Olivier grudgingly started to comply, refusing to wince when bits of drywall and shattered cement were pulled from his blood covered leg.

“I’d watch your mouth, Flament.” Even though his mood was definitely ruined by the sorry excuse for an operator, Gustave tried his best to disinfect the wound _nicely_ and keep his stitches tidy. Surprisingly, Lion was quiet the entire time. The process took place in almost complete silence. Another few minutes of bandaging a little too tightly passed, then Doc let him go.

“I doubt you’re going to reclean and bandage your wound properly. Come back tomorrow afternoon,” he said gruffly, removing his bloodied gloves and threw them away, purposefully ignoring Lion’s gaze. After some inaudible mumbling from the taller, sandy haired man, the door slammed shut and Gustave finally turned around. Cursing the entire way, he stomped back to his desk and shuffled his mounds of paperwork, blood still boiling and teeth still clenched.

That was simply how it was between the two. Gilles, the poor man, couldn’t take a side. Twitch and Rook were wholly sick of the tension, but they had a much harder time trying to be more forgiving of Lion when he was the one who did anything that rubbed them the wrong way. Rook, as positive as he believed himself to be, couldn’t find common ground with the prickly fellow Frenchman. Of course, it was mostly due to his strong, unwavering loyalty for the medic he thought of as a brother. Julien admired Gustave greatly, considering how much time he spent working with him and how much good he had seen Doc do, whether he was on duty or not. Julien saw the way Gustave and Olivier fought, tooth and nail, and couldn’t help side with the person he thought of as selfless and compassionate. The GIGN’s beloved medic was a trustworthy member of Rainbow and a constant in the dangerous lives of everyone who worked with Six’s team. Overworked and always serving overtime, Gustave’s workaholic habits only added to Julien’s concerns but also made Doc an exemplary example of an operator to him. Julien couldn’t help but appreciate the humanitarian efforts of Gustave. The doctor was an idol of his, flaws and all. Lion? To Rook, he was something like a friend, but Olivier’s thorny exterior didn’t do much to help their limited friendship. He had to admit, though, that Olivier was quite a lot of fun to be around whenever a sparring session was needed. He was a worthy opponent and respectable fighter. His persistence and indefatigable nature was something Julien aspired to emulate. However, Lion was the kind of person he would go out and drink with every once in a while but never truly get to know. It was all very surface-level, Rook thought. 

Twitch, no matter how much she enjoyed a good gossip, hated the arguments, if one could call Doc and Lion’s fights “arguments.” They were horrible, chock full of smothering insults and shouting laced with enmity and poison. They were bitter and they were hateful. They made her feel defensive and conflicted. Did she have to choose a side? She was incredibly loyal to Doc, considering their close friendship and the amount of times he came to the rescue for her and everyone else in the GIGN. He was a great secret keeper and amazing listener, even if he was only pretending to do so sometimes. Their trust in each other was mutual, and she liked Gustave’s logic-based, straightforward advice. Even though both respected each other immensely, she did have to hear snide comments about Olivier whenever he was brought up in conversation. Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel like Lion deserved a second chance. After all, who had spent the most time with her in the workshop by far, staying late to work with her on her drones? Who had been the quickest to volunteer to help her to the infirmary when she fell severely ill in the middle of a mission? Who gave her the expensive bottle of wine for her birthday when it was only the GIGN operators who bothered to remember? Olivier Flament. Despite her hope for a kinder Olivier and for peace between him and Gustave, he kept brushing her away and constantly took out his anger on her, even if it was really meant for Doc. It was hard to put up with. “Sorry,” she’d tell him wearily before leaving the room. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

For Rook, it really came down to a deep bias. For Twitch, it was her growing tired of Lion’s sour attitude. Simple. 

It wasn’t quite like that for Gilles. Montagne found himself as the middleman of this inter-GIGN war. A unit he thought of as family. Even though he was close to both Gustave and Olivier, Gilles couldn’t figure out the root of their problem. As far as he remembered, the two were quite close before. What changed? 

“Gus,” he called from the doorway after being brushed off by Lion, who he had caught stomping out of the medic’s office.

“Gilles,” Gustave responded coldly, still facing away from the door, tidying up his cabinet of supplies next to his desk, tossing away some empty boxes.

“What was Olivier doing here?”

“Injury.” 

“Is he okay?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay, mon ami?”

“Yes.”

“So...no?”

“He’s just being himself and it...displeases me.”

“Understatement of the year,” Montangne mused, walking over and leaning on the counter, observing Doc. “You know he’s not that bad, right? You must’ve known, considering you’re familiar with him from some time before.”

“Merde, that was a misjudgement on my part. I don’t want anything to do with that prick.”

“You both work together frequently, and you make dinners in the GIGN dorm quite uncomfortable. Don’t you want to make amends and spare everyone else?”

“Gilles—“

“No, really.”

“Let it go.”

“Gustave,” he warned, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m being serious, this is an issue whether you know it or not. It can jeopardize future operations, it’s clear you can’t work together in training simulations—“

“Look,” Doc snarled, slamming a cabinet closed and whirling around to face Gilles. “I have my reasons. We worked together fine in New Mexico. I’m sick of being the one trying to repair whatever relationship we had. I tried, he didn’t reciprocate. I’m done.” Coldly, he brushed past the other man and went back to sifting through paperwork. 

“Please. I understand, but there has to be something you both can do.” Gilles was practically begging him at this point, briskly striding towards Gustave’s desk and turning his chair to face him. “Anything. I’ll talk to him, you can figure it out from there.”

After a moment’s pause, Gustave threw down a folder and leaned back, groaning while straightening his crisp white coat. “Talk to him and I’ll try again.”

A pause. 

“It means a lot, Gus.” Gilles patted his back and chatted a bit about his day before swiftly exiting, leaving Gustave to think briefly about Olivier before returning his focus to his work. 

Unbeknownst to him, Olivier had a similar talk with Gilles. It began as hostile as Gilles’ conversation with Gustave had, but Olivier was the one to pour out the story. The Ebola crisis, the collateral damage, Doc’s vicious retaliation, their previous friendship, everything. All of this information came after a week and a half of partly pressure and partly gained trust. Olivier, while quick to retaliate, was slow to trust. His facade of permanent arrogance and pugnaciousness crumbled in the face of those he believed to have his best interest at heart. Gilles began to get why both were so upset with each other, and it fueled his drive to bring them back together. Satisfied with both men’s responses, Gilles talked to both again, saying that the other agreed to try to make it up to the other. 

He thought it was a little selfish of him to try and intervene, but what else could be done? Both Olivier and Gustave were headstrong and opinionated. Eerily enough, Gilles thought they were similar in many ways. Perhaps it was this exact fact that Montagne wanted them to understand. Still, it seemed that their differences were not what drove them apart. Rather, their similarities stood out enough to clash, while unawareness raised a heightened sense of conflict and blinded both to the hypocrisy of their own ideals. Gilles couldn’t have his GIGN team torn apart by the past, no matter how bitter and bloody. He adamantly held blind faith in the power of unity within the group, and it was well known that nothing could stop him from enforcing that mindset. Miscommunication came between Doc and Lion, and Montagne hoped that meeting on neutral ground would catalyze the rebuilding of burned bridges. 

Olivier had mixed opinions. On one hand, he didn’t want to let down his guard and risk his pride and beg for forgiveness. On the other, he realized that unless one of them left, there was no escape from working together. He took the issue to church, consulting his pastor and some monks in hope that they could come up with a solid solution to the dilemma that had lasted him a very long time. Returning from his Sunday mass with a strong sense of resolve, he settled on trying to be the bigger person with the advice of his friends at the church. While he did indeed find this difficult, he felt like the brothers of the church were right. No use fighting fire with fire; take the high ground. Cautiously, his battle to repair his bond with Gustave began. It was difficult to adequately explain, but Olivier felt the need to _fix_ things. Something out there compelled him to do so. Whether it was God or an itch to clear a guilt-heavy conscience, that “something” stubbornly wrenched him from his haze of defensive anger towards Gustave and cleared his head for a brief moment, enough to definitively commit him to his revelation. 

A week after their skirmish, Lion traversed the base in search of the coffee machine, hoping a peace offering of a fresh cup of espresso would test the waters. After asking a few of the SAS operators, only to be met with brusque answers, he turned to Emmanuel, who he had found lounging in the workshop, wearing a GIGN hoodie and lazily testing her drone. Thoroughly anxious, he felt like a fool for being nervous about anything relating to his quest to make amends with Doc. 

“Em.” Rapping the wooden table to get her attention, he leaned against an empty chair next to Jäger, who was too busy to notice. 

“Olivier,” she greeted, stretching. “Need something?”

“Er, oui,” he hesitated. “Where’s the coffee machine?”

She thought for a moment, brows wrinkled in concentration. “I know there’s one back at our dorms in the living room, but the one in the base is always moving around. Why? Don’t you drink coffee?”

“Merci. Just wondering. I don’t get coffee from the base.” He quickly exited, giving a curt nod in the direction of some recruits working in a corner who were staring. He continued his trek, finally satisfied when he found a quaint coffee maker in a secluded corner of the communal living and dining room. After a few unsuccessful tries to get it to work properly, he wondered if this was truly worth it. 

“A fucking waste,” he grumbled after ten minutes of fumbling around the machine. The coffee looked acceptable, but Lion was beginning to remember the significance of his anger-filled falling out with Doc. Gustave didn’t fucking understand. _I bet the bastard never understood death, the damned medic,_ Olivier thought, gripping the coffee cup tightly as he made his way to the infirmary, purposely walking slower than normal. _All about saving lives and shit. The asshole loves preaching about human life but he doesn’t understand death like I do, because I..._

_No, that’s not right._ Olivier felt deflated, the strange bout of petty angst abruptly leaving him. 

_Maybe neither of us understand what happened in Africa._ Determined once more, Lion pressed on, desperate for at least some closure with the past and answers as to why the intertwined parts of him and Gustave were driven away in the midst of the collateral damage and conflict. A mix of almost instinctual anger and resentment fused with a repressed sense of fear became a strange conglomerate that merged with hesitation and dread, all of which came bubbling up as Olivier approached Gustave’s office door. With the inner turmoil of a prisoner on death row, he knocked three times. 

“Come in,” Gustave’s professional voice came from inside. Seemingly in slow motion, Lion watched his hand reach for the handle. 

_This is it, Flament._


	2. Chapter 2

Much like the eye of a hurricane, serenity came from deep inside Olivier as he stepped into the pristine, dimly lit office. It was much less luxurious than Gustave’s office area at the infirmary. Mounds of finished paperwork crowded the right side of his desk, but the enormous pile of unfinished work loomed above the rest of the cluttered space. It was almost cartoonish. The fluorescent lights overhead gave the cramped room a dingy look and made Gustave appear gaunt and even more tired than usual. Apart from the white lab coat hanging from a hook behind him, the walls were rather sparse. A small wooden cabinet tucked in the far corner had a cluster of small, well cleaned picture frames, filled with people Olivier couldn’t quite see or recognize. Not looking up from his rapid typing, the doctor flipped a page in a file and asked in his heavily accented voice, “Who’s there?”

“It’s Olivier,” Lion said hoarsely, still strangely calm. The storm of rapid fire thoughts had greatly subsided, leaving him stranded with no coherent train of thought. He ignored Doc’s darkened gaze that pierced a part of his soul and radiated suspicion. 

“What do you want—”

“I brought you coffee.” Weakly offering the sad, still steaming cup, Lion fought valiantly to soften his neutral expression. Almost a smile. 

“I see” was Gustave’s response. His tone was emotionless and steady, but he couldn’t hide the curious glint in his typically stoic eyes. Lion’s behaviour was absurd, to say the least. In fact, it was quite the opposite of his normal self; he was actually rather amiable. Gustave couldn’t just swear him out like usual when Olivier wasn’t even doing anything to provoke him. “Merci beaucoup.” Standing up, he reached over his desk as Olivier handed him the cup. 

“You like espresso still, right?” Shifting his weight onto one leg, Lion leaned against the doorframe and tried to gauge the medic’s reaction. 

“I...yes, I do,” Doc responded, his voice slightly strained. Immense confusion raged inside his mind, leaving the doctor with a surplus of unanswered questions. “You remembered?” Sipping carefully, he kept his eyes on Olivier, still unsure of how to respond to the sudden act of kindness. 

“Oui.” Olivier’s murmured reply was almost too soft for Gustave to hear. Doc remained silent as he sat, both looking and not looking at the other operator. Lion was internally celebrating his first little win, waiting for the other man to dismiss him. His shoelaces have never seemed more interesting, and he was suddenly aware of the lint on his pants. 

“Are you going to sit down or not?” Motioning with his free hand, Gustave nodded at a single, tiny plastic chair across from him, giving Olivier an owlish look. 

Shocked, he sat down quickly and without objection. He couldn’t have been more surprised by the vicissitude of Doc’s attitude towards him. _What do I do?_ Lion was in a panic, and Gustave could tell, even if he himself was just as clueless. Both were equally lost. Neither could figure out the motivations of the other, and the proximity without toxicity laid the first, pitifully small, stepping stone in a bridge that could remedy the divide between each other. Olivier was still driven by the mysterious yearning for something less like forgiveness and more like a compromise, a treaty. Or at least, he thought he was. Neither spoke until Gustave had finished his coffee and did some finishing touches on one of the folders of work he had completed. 

“Was it alright?” Olivier, anxious once more, squirmed a little in his seat and tried to read Gustave's expression. The doctor pushed the finished folder aside and looked at him, his expression void of emotion. 

“It was.” In truth, it was too sweet for him, but Olivier had always been one to put in too much sugar. _He puts sugar on his buttered toast,_ Doc suddenly remembered, a pang of nostalgia running through him. He brushed it off. 

Taking advantage of the peaceful waters between them, Gustave asked, “What do you want?”

“I…” Olivier started. “I wanted to talk.”

“About?”

“Us. Or at least, what happened in Africa—“

“Get out.” It was abrupt, to say the least. Suddenly guarded, Gustave looked...odd. There was something different about his normally neutral expression. His eyes? Lion didn’t fail to notice how Doc glanced at the picture frames beside him. Was he still bitter over his colleague? Who was it?

“What?” He was surprised. Didn’t Gustave want to get along with him? Was Gilles lying? “Kateb—“

“Leave.”

“I—“

“Now.” Gustave was glaring holes into his own hands, clasped tightly on top of his desk, not meeting Olivier’s eyes. 

In the blink of an eye, Olivier found himself outside the tiny office, the door slamming behind him. Even through the haze of confusion and slight anger, Olivier could tell that Gustave didn’t act out of hatred; he was nursing a wound deep inside him. Lion couldn’t understand why, though. Still in shock, he texted Montagne, hoping for an answer. After a few minutes, he got a reply asking to meet him in their dorm. Gilles later confirmed that Gustave was, indeed, caught off guard and kicked him out in defense. The two met in the communal living room, since the other three GIGN operators were off in a training simulation.

“That didn’t go too well, did it?” Gilles gave him a sympathetic smile, sitting on a couch across from Lion. The fireplace crackled softly behind him, casting a warm glow on Olivier’s face as he distractedly eyed the wall behind him.

“Non.” Shifting in his seat, Olivier kicked his legs up onto his chair and sprawled out on the cushions. “It did not.”

“It’ll be okay, mon ami. Africa is still a touchy subject for him.”

“You talked to him about it?”

Pausing for a moment, Gilles thought hard about his answer. “I have before. He’s very unwilling to acknowledge it, from what I’ve seen and understand.”

Olivier scoffed, still instinctively bitter about the mention of Gustave.

“Look, he’s not the best at feelings and neither are you. I know you’re just as upset about Africa as he is.”

“No shit,” he snarled, starting to get up from his chair. “But he acts like I’m just fucking fine. I’m not peachy keen on having these fucking nightmares about...about Africa, alright? The people that died? I see them, alright? He acts like it’s nothing, always playing the damn victim card! He doesn’t give a shit about how I feel about it.” He punctuated his words with a jab of his hand. 

“Hey,” Gilles responds evenly, raising a hand in surrender. Olivier sat back down, still giving him a vaguely hostile stare. “No one said you were perfectly okay or that he’s the one that is right, but I’m just trying to remind you that both of you aren’t always complete opposites of each other. You have similar goals.”

“Hm.” Olivier looked away, thinking.

“You both value lives, just in different ways.”

“Okay. I know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him about it again?”

“Yeah.” A brief lull in the conversation gave both operators a period of reflection.

“Consider it done.”

“Merci,” Lion replied grudgingly. He was secretly grateful.

“I’ll leave you be now. See you at dinner?”

“Yeah. Bye.”

“Gustave will come around,” Montagne reassured, smiling at him. “And Em is making filet mignon. Don’t be late.” Olivier hummed absentmindedly, vaguely watching him leave. Once the man was gone, Olivier turned to watch the cloudy sky outside their little bubble of a base. It was unusual for him to be this still, but he couldn’t help but concern himself with a seemingly endless amount of possible scenarios in which he could talk to Gustave.

Gilles marked it as a win in his book. Olivier was still mildly upset by Gustave’s outburst in his office, but he was determined to finish what he had started. Picking at some lint on his grey pants, he considered bringing the medic another cup of coffee. After all, they couldn’t beat around the bush that was their past. At least, not for long.

Almost instantly, Lion found himself reliving the Ebola incident all over again. Too late to pull himself out of the hole he had unknowingly dug himself into, Olivier hoped his godforsaken memories brought back something good at least. 

He was wrong.

It started long before anything in Africa. His friendship with Gustave, that is. Almost two peas in a pod, they were partners in the GIGN. Olivier still remembered some of the little details about the other man. He remembered the times where they would hang out in a secluded area of the barracks so they could work on the original stim pistol, staying up late to perfect the firing mechanism. He recalled the exact number of iterations and prototypes they had gone through. Seventy-two. As far as he could tell, the current stim pistol design hadn’t changed since then. They spent a little over a year together in the same unit. He knew Gilles was there too, but he had no memorable moments with Montagne. He could easily recount every time Gustave burned his hand soldering. Eighteen. The pictures and scenes in his head were grainy and dim, but he could remember it all.

Most importantly, he remembered his feelings for Gustave. In Olivier’s eyes they probably weren’t reciprocated to begin with, but, to him, it was a trivial qualm compared to the insurmountable wall that came as a result of their last mission as a unit. 

They were sent to Africa to keep a quarantine. 

Lion shuddered just thinking about it.

Any good that came out of that operation was dashed by the shitshow that was the protocol that Lion had regrettably committed to. What else could he have done? He didn’t remember what he did or what protocol he even followed, but he saw what happened during and after. Olivier didn’t even know if he couldn’t recall the protocol because he had never needed to follow it again or because he was simply repressing it. 

Somehow, he couldn’t repress the smell of rotten flesh and charred bodies, nor could he forget the cries of anguish resonating through the haze of _something_ detonating. 

None of these flashbacks were new. He had lived through these again and again before, but this time was different. He could remember something else, something faint. This emerging memory wasn’t tangible, but he tried his best to reach as far deep as he could, just to brush the tips of his fingers on the wisp of a fading scene. 

The memory came back, as vivid as anyone could imagine. It was more of a picture than an event. A snapshot of time. He couldn’t move, couldn’t hear. He could only see and pray. Nothing seemed to be moving; everything was frozen. Grimly, Olivier focused on observing what was in front of him, desperately struggling to get a grip on what he saw. 

It was Gustave. It had been quite some time since the memory took place, but he looked so young here, his head void of any white hairs, surrounded by debris and splatters of blood. A single, deep red drop was caught midair, falling from an unseen cut on the back of his hand. Breathless, Olivier continued to soak up any of the details he could hold on to, despite all of the pain it caused him. There was dirt mixed in with Gustave’s own blood all over his face, dust hanging lazily in the air. His hair was a mess, and his uniform looked faded because of all the sand that clung to its navy blue fabric. He looked defeated.

In his arms was a young child, limbs mangled and hair matted with blood.

There was a lot more blood than Olivier had anticipated.

Almost like taking a step back, he saw the bigger picture. The scene was almost serene, painted like a Renaissance painting. Doc was standing in the middle, cradling the body, his entire self backlit by the gaping hole in the roof of the tent that once served as the medbay. He really did look like an angel, but there was still all of the blood. 

And Gustave’s eyes.

A twisted feeling of anger, betrayal, and sadness clouded his expression. His balaclava was almost entirely torn and shredded in places, revealing numerous cuts and scrapes. Still frozen in time, he regarded Olivier with an overwhelming sense of resentment and internalized grief. Eyebrows knitted together, mouth twisted in contempt. The child was still dead in his arms.

It felt like hell again.

Why now? Why would he remember it now?

Gustave’s words screamed at him, but they were too fuzzy, too muffled. It made Lion feel worse. He couldn’t remember what Doc had said.

“I’m sorry,” Olivier mouthed, the view before him dissipating. He found himself in the same position in the chair he was sitting in, the fireplace still crackling merrily in front of him. No one was there to see or hear him as he choked back sobs.

“Olivier?”

He recognized that voice.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr - yonaih
> 
> xo <3


End file.
